You're With Me Now
by KitCat Italica
Summary: The night is always darkest just before the dawn. And this dark night unveils a new dawning purpose for the dark knight in the most unexpected of ways.


You're With Me Now

**This is a songfic I have been wanting to write since February, inspired from the Finale from Jekyll and Hyde: The Broadway Musical, which in itself has inspired ANOTHER fic idea for me just for the cracked-up hell of it. But all that aside, for the full effect, listen to that song before you read, it'll make it more dramatic (hopefully, let's hope I haven't faceplanted). Enjoy! :)**

_We burned the forest down._

The words still echoed through Bruce's head long after Alfred left. His breakfast tray sat idly beside him in lonely dejection, knowing it would spoil and mold away before it could hope to receive any attention. Now was not the time for eating. He wondered if there ever would be a time for anything again.

Anything except what Alfred had meant by his statement: _burn it down_. And before that: _watch the world burn._ It was dawning on him now just how much damage the monster meant to inflict upon his beloved city, and just when he intended to stop. Never. Not until he got what he wanted, which was for Gotham to burn in the flames of its broken ethics, while its people stared their ugly, scarred reflections back in the face and watched their inhibitions melt away like sloppy makeup.

And the only way to stop him…would be to do the job himself.

He closed his eyes shut at the unbearable thoughts that followed. No. Not that. Anything but that. You can't give in to what this madman wants. Not after what he's done. Not after what he did to…

His eyes then slid open and fell upon the object resting in his closed fist. Alfred hadn't noticed he had been holding it. But it was there, resting on his palm as he opened it in front of his face. Still that ancient green-brown, still grooved and cool in his hand, just as it had been when they had found it as kids in the garden. He had taken it from her, and then had fallen down the hole into the bats' cave. Then as his father carried him into the house, he gave it back to her. Then two decades later, she had given it to him for his birthday before he had saved her from the fear toxin.

But this time he hadn't saved her. This time he couldn't carry her into the house after their wedding. This time she had fallen down the hole and couldn't come back up to him.

And this time, he felt sobs escaping his wearied throat as he realized that this time the arrowhead was his to keep, never to return to its rightful owner.

His left hand fell to catch his dampening face, the artifact bearing all his memories and burdens still on the blurred edges of his vision in the other hand. It was over. Batman was only temporary, until Dent could take the helm in full, and he would destroy this cursed cowl in his lap and there waiting for him would be her. In all her beauty, all her radiance, all her inner light he so loved, in his reach at long last. It had been her that he was fighting for all those nights. Not just his parents and his past family. But for her, and his future family. Now gone. There was nothing left to fight for.

His sobs stilled as he was suddenly made aware of harsh, slow footsteps approaching behind him. It wasn't Alfred, whose gait he knew as well as his own. Beyond the two of them, no one else was supposed to be in the penthouse.

But as he felt that prickling in the air around him, that ungainly aura of the intruder's presence, the unmistakable tensing of all his muscles, the spikes of unrighteous adrenaline that coursed his body, the honing in of all his senses that was becoming a viciously repeating pattern of responses, he bit back a surging sob as he bitterly recognized the person who was making steady progress towards his chair.

His tears still flowed, but were becoming silent as he fought to regain control of his movements once more; there was no way he was going to betray his weakness to this…_creature_. This creature who, it seemed, had figured out who he was and where to find him. _For a while there, I thought you really were Dent…_ It was becoming clear to him now that the psychopath had been implying that now he really _did_ know his true identity. There was no denying it with a façade of playboy stupidity now, not with his armor still on, and his cowl perched in his lap. He fought to keep his speeding breath under his control, attempting to end his sobs and newly-accelerating breathing from the edginess always provoked when around this soulless killer. But for the moment, sobs were inching in a victory.

Joker's footsteps were slow and sure, calm. If it had been anyone else, he would have called them solemn, but there was no way the man had any capabilities of possessing that emotion. But the manner of his step had him guessing as to what purpose he had here. It wasn't to kill him, if what he had spoken was true: _I don't want to kill you! What would I do without you?_ But that was the only intent he could even shakily erase from the list; any others were entirely possible.

The footsteps stopped, still halfway across the room, as a single tremor of a sob escaped Bruce's turncoat throat. He immediately swallowed it, then cursed himself for the action; what was the point? The moment he heard the footsteps, what he _should_ have done was leap from his chair and beat the shit out of this murderous wretch, keep him away from Alfred, and slip on his cowl to make a beeline for Arkham Asylum with the escaped criminal. But he hadn't. It seemed the only fight left in him was against himself, with the past he had allowed to happen, with the people he had failed to save. With the actions he couldn't prevent.

Another choked sob geysered up from his diaphragm, and he didn't stop it. Then another, and another. Dignity had no place here; it had died with her when he unwittingly chose to save Harvey instead of her. When he had taken the man behind him at his word. Cementing his name as synonymous to "fool."

The footsteps advanced again, even slower than before. His haphazard breath stilled once more as he listened to the Joker's approach, the rhythm and echoes drilling into his skull like no other. Then, the strangest sensation spiraled through him. It was like an aftershock after lightning strikes, wild and unpredictable. It was as if he had _heard_ the maniac's thoughts through his head, clear as day, though no words had been spoken aloud into the room.

_You are free now._

His spine jolted at the thought's meaning. Free was not what he would describe it as; he felt more trapped than ever. She _had_ been his freedom, what was this insane freak going on about? This was some sick joke of his: by releasing his tether to sanity and hopes for normalcy, he had somehow set his mind "free" to the clutches of madness, just like him. And he felt it again, the thoughts entering his brain from some unknown source, knowing the other's meaning was clearly those words exactly.

_You're with me now._

The footsteps slowed further still, now but a foot away from him. He still didn't look up towards him, feeling that if a knife or Alfred's severed head awaited him, he didn't deserve the honor of dying while staring his adversary in the eye. But somehow, the thoughts were prickling something deep inside him, something he didn't even know he possessed. A resolve he hadn't been made aware of until now.

Joker was almost to him, and slowed to a halt two inches behind the back of his head. He could feel the powerful, uncanny green eyes screaming down at him, filling him up and picking him apart at the same time, fueling him with that same hidden fire as the lunatic's last words flashed through his head, as natural as his own thought processes.

_Where you'll always be._

He closed his eyes at the final thought, a calm breath entering his nostrils at last. The tears were blinked away, the sobs done away with. There was nothing else.

His right palm folded around the arrowhead as it melded into a resolute fist.

He was surprised to find his arms shake when he moved them, but this had to be done. Slowly his hands made progress to his lap and reached the edges of the cowl. For such a moment he felt that the Joker didn't belong in it with such surely riveted eyes. But then he realized that just the opposite was true. Maybe at this moment he had to belong here.

Maybe they both did.

He took the cowl and slowly, calmly, first with caution, then with growing resolve, slid the eared Kevlar over his head. For a moment he sat still as a statue, before gradually opening his eyes to the dawning day on the horizon.

He felt a gloved hand grip his shoulder, and he knew that was where the Joker's intentions ended for tonight.

And though he couldn't see it, as he stared out to the next day in his redefined purpose in life, he could feel Joker's mouth creep up into a sly grin.

* * *

**A/N: Yet another "missing scene," I suppose, much like "Four Shots" was. Just those little moments between Bruce and the Joker that gives more insight as to how the characters developed throughout the story. Because that's what fanfiction's for. ^.^**

**I always thought it kinda abrupt that Bruce goes from tearing up talking about Rachel to being all gung-ho to drive a Lamborghini into the streets and save Reese. And what the true reasoning was of why Joker is suddenly all having a change of heart about revealing Batman's identity: he knows it and wants it for himself, and for the game to continue. It pretty much sums up here in this fic what I believe happened to Bruce after Rachel died: his purpose (or objective, if you will, to use a theatre term) went from "pave the way for Dent to take over so you can retire and be with Rachel" to "stop Joker". And here, Joker's just kinda helping him along with that. You can interpret this as the beginnings (or continuation) of slash if you really want to, but I don't think it needs to be. Do what you will. And review! Tell me how bad the damage of my 2AM writing fuckfest is. :/ **


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